And So It Goes
by LOSTforHOUSE
Summary: Takes place after 'Half Wit' This takes place after the final scene of the episode. Cameron's POV. Chase, Foreman, and House are also present. Slight use of language.


_A/N: This came to me after watching 'Half-Wit'. The end of the episode left endless possibilities open and this is my take. I hope you enjoy and please review!_

"So he takes out the condom and asks me how to use it!" I sputter out between laughs as I recount a clinic patient from this morning: the current winner of the Most Obnoxious Patient of the Week.

Foreman raises his beer to me, and in between shaking his head and laughing, says, "Alright. You win."

Chase just looks as if he wants to find the guy and push him around. Two things bother me: Chase in a fight makes me laugh and I wish he'd get rid of that faux boyfriend vibe.

The waiter comes over to take our orders when my brain muses on what House would have done with that patient. The thought makes me chuckle as the possibilities are endless.

House. I think about him more than I should.

In theory I _should_ hate him; I _want_ to hate him; I've _tried_ to hate him; but it's harder than one would think.

_One look, one gesture, one kiss, and I'm gone._

I'm vaguely aware of where I am, and tune out the clinking, clanking, and chatter that surround me. I mutter something about salmon to the waiter, and he takes my menu.

The feel of his lips, softer than they should be, on mine turned my brain to mush. His tongue briefly sweeping across mine turned my legs into jelly.

**He kissed back.**

_Everybody lies you bastard._

Foreman is trying, once again, to explain the upcoming baseball season to Chase, when I see something out of the corner of my eye.

House.

His presence signaled by the brass-colored bell above the door.

"House," comes out of my mouth a little too breathy.

"Why would you bring him up?" Foreman asks; annoyed at the thought he could ruin his evening and not even be here.

Chase follows my gaze and chokes on his red wine.

"Nice to see you too, Foreman," House says sarcastically, acting as if nothing were wrong.

_Acting as if that ever important trust hasn't been broken._

Foreman quirks his eyebrow and narrows his eyes. It would be comical on any other day, but not today; it's too serious now.

Chase is still gaping like a fish, as if House appeared in the form of an apparition. House takes advantage of his state and throws his cane at him, and then tosses his winter jacket.

Chase catches the cane just in time. _He's tired of being treated like shit._

I'm privy to this information during his post coital haze, where apparently it's confession time.

Holding Foreman's gaze he says, "scoot," and I look up and notice he's now at my side. The blue gaze I fear _and anticipate_ is burning into my eyes _my soul_.

"Scoot," he says again and this time emphasizing his words with hand gestures.

Five minutes pass, and the only thing that could make this more awkward is if we were all naked.

Chase becomes interested in his reflection via the soupspoon. He's passed the vain limit.

Foreman sits back with his arms draped over the booth and finds the ceiling suddenly fascinating.

House is doing what he always does: he's observing.

And I can't take the silence.

"Are you going to drink scotch with your meal or do you have something else in mind?" I ask turning my body towards him.

He turns his head and his eyes twinkle as if he's just won a bet with himself. _I spoke first_.

"What are you having?" he asks.

"White wine and salmon," I respond.

"Sounds good," and when the waiter returns with bread he tells him,_ "I'll have what she's having."_

The waiter nods and I look over at the other two; they're both shooting daggers at me and I can practically hear them say, _Who said he could stay?_

The awkward silence returns and this time Foreman breaks the silence.

"I knew you were a son of a bitch, but this is a new low, even for you," he says in a quietness that is laced with indignation.

House's eyes look down; knowing coming in here was a bad idea. Silently praying _There's no place like home, there's no place like home…and a piano and a bottle of scotch._

"You really scared us there man," Chase pipes up from his corner.

And ever so quietly, you'd think we'd imagined it, an _I'm sorry_ escapes his lips.

The three of us look at one another for confirmation, and when we all agree that we heard those rogue words escape his lips. We mentally take time to process what he said.

"Just tell **me** that it wasn't to get high and I'll leave it alone," I say; my voice cracking in a whisper and silently adding _for now._

He takes in a slow breath and turns to look at **me**, "It wasn't."

I'm strangely satisfied _for now_.

The waiter comes back with our orders and I think we're all grateful to have something to distract us.

"The food's good," Foreman says between bites.

Chase grunts his response; House nods; and I say, "yeah," before grabbing my wine.

The silence is threatening to settle again when...

"So, it's three strikes and you're out, right?" Chase asks Foreman.

I smile inwardly. Thanks Chase. _He's at least good for one thing._

_Well, two things._


End file.
